He gave her garments a long look. “Bold one, aren’t you? I would wager a pound she would never allow that.”
“It cannot hurt to try.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I will apply at the service entrance. Katherine will be so jealous if I succeed. Then she will tell me that I have more courage than sense. She always says that.” She turned to the big house. “The worst that can happen is I am turned away.”
She felt the coachman’s gaze on her while she approached the gate on the side of the house. She pushed through, into the little pathway that flanked the house and led back to the garden. Once the gate closed, she stopped.
The pathway was quite narrow, barely a yard wide, and along its other side ran a high wall that separated this property from Lord Harold’s. She turned her attention to the windows above her. Even the first-story ones were a good twenty-five feet up.
She fingered the masonry of the side of the house, noting the depth of the mortar between the rusticated stones of the corner quoins. She eyed the deep windowsills above her. While she walked down the pathway, she saw that the windows down here not only were locked but also barred. She turned the corner of the house and found the service entrance.
No one responded to her knock. She bent to peer in a window. The kitchen appeared unused. No provisions on the table, no knives lying about. Nothing. Apparently a cook did not work here if Sir Malcolm went down to the country. If there was no cook, there probably were not more than a few servants either.
She had not really believed that a housekeeper would give her a tour, but it was worth a try. How much easier her task would have been then. Two minutes of distraction and—done.
She examined the door itself. It was made of solid wood, with hinges that indicated it swung inward. Three locks kept it secure. She would not be surprised if a bar also provided security. Sir Malcolm took no chances. He probably knew that a house like this attracted thieves, and his home was not in a neighborhood like Mayfair.
No easy way in. That meant she would have to use a hard way instead.
She returned to the passageway. This time, while she slowly strolled down its length, she examined the brick house next door.
* * *
“I do not think it wise for you to leave town right away.” Gabriel voiced his mind while he watched Harry stuff shirts into a valise. One would think Harry did not have a valet, which he didn’t as such. However, he did have a manservant who could pack for him, but the man was elsewhere doing whatever general chores menservants did.
“I can’t think of one reason to stay,” Harry muttered.
“You too readily give in to disappointment. Too quickly admit defeat.”
Harry stopped packing. He gazed down at the valise, then over at Gabriel. “I saw her kissing another man last night, in the back of that theater box.”
“Then speak to her. After all the time you spent courting her—”
“Emilia did not see it as courting, apparently.” He spoke bitterly. “I should have known that after her sister’s wedding, once she was out this Season, this would happen. Actually, I did know. I felt it in my heart. It is best if I become scarce. I refuse to be one of those rejected suitors who sits in the corner of drawing rooms, looking poetic and miserable.”
Gabriel had to smile. Even in the best of humors, Harry looked a little poetic and miserable. It had more to do with his serious, contemplative nature than with his physical qualities.
They had much in common in their appearances, and probably would all the more as Harry got older. The same blue eyes and dark hair, the same jaw and mouth. Harry was an inch shorter, but still taller than most.
Ten years separated them. The spare had come late, after his parents had given up hope. Other than their faces, they had little in common. Harry had buried himself in books as soon as he’d learned to read. He had shown little interest in the pleasures of London and, but for this one case, none in women.
Gabriel knew that for all his bravado, his brother now experienced the kind of pain that only comes with an infatuation gone awry. Watching him conjured up some memories of his own younger years when he had known that fire. It burned in one’s chest while it consumed one’s heart.
Harry reached for another stack of clothes, then stopped. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “I did speak to her, Gabe. Before she left the theater.”
“What did she say?”
“She was sweet and affectionate, but—” He shrugged and made a crooked, sardonic smile. “She told me she has grown to think of me as a brother.”
Hell. Damn. Gabriel tried to keep his reaction off his face. Those words spelled doom. A woman might as well say,The notion of passion with you repulses me as abnormal.
Harry started packing again. Gabriel went over, pushed his brother’s hands away, and set the valise aside. “Then it is over. So be it. It happens. There will be other girls.”
“None so beautiful, so angelic, so—”
“Just as beautiful, just as angelic, just as well born, just as amiable. Trust me, there is a river of femininity out there and the trick is not finding one to love, but avoiding all the ones who are looking for love. You are the son of a duke, damn it, with a significant fortune and you are almost as handsome as I am, which is saying something.”
